Page 92 of The Teacher
“And you were in the poetry magazine he runs too, right?”
Again, I nod.
“So this is off the record, Addie, like I said.” She blinks up at me, her eyelashes heavy with water droplets. “Was anything going on between you and Nathaniel Bennett?”
Deny everything. Even if Nathaniel has betrayed me, which I still don’t believe he would do, I recognize this information is better kept secret for both our sakes. “No.”
“I’m sure if there was,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “he told you to keep it a secret at all costs. I understand why he would tell you that, but you have to understand that it’s not in your best interest. It’s in your best interest to be honest with me, and I know it might be uncomfortable to tell me something like that in front of your mother, which is why I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“Nothing is going on between me and Mr. Bennett,” I say quietly.
“But if it were,” she says, “you need to realize that it wouldn’t be your fault. He is the adult—yourteacher—and starting up any kind of sexual relationship would be extremely unprofessional on his part. You would not be at fault, I promise.”
She doesn’t understand. She could never comprehend the connection Nathaniel and I have. We are soulmates. He wasn’t taking advantage of me—I wanted it as bad as he did or maybe even more. He told me no other adult would get it, and he was right.
“Nothing is going on between me and Mr. Bennett,” I say through my teeth. “And like I said, you’re not supposed to be talking to me without my mother around.”
Detective Sprague gives me a look that is both disappointed and sad. I feel bad for a moment, because she seems like she’s probably a good detective. She seems dedicated to her job, and she actually seems like maybe she cares about me. But then again, all she really wants is to find out what happened to Mrs. Bennett. Her job isn’t to look out for my best interest. She makes it like Nathaniel was manipulating me, but really, she’s doing the same thing. Besides, there’s no proof anything happened between him and me.
“You need to know, Addie,” she says quietly, “that Nathaniel Bennett is painting you to be a stalker who was acting alone. He’s trying to make us believe that you followed Eve Bennett to the commuter lot, killed her, and got rid of her body. If you don’t speak out for yourself, that is the only story anyone is going to hear.”
Is that true? I don’t believe that. She must be lying—he would never do that to me..
Right?
Detective Sprague rifles around in the pocket of her trench coat until she comes up with a small rectangular card. She holds it out to me. “This is my card. I wrote my cell phone number on the back. If you want to talk to me, call me anytime. I mean it.”
I accept the card, but I don’t say anything.
She gives me one last look, then she gets back into her black car and drives away. After she’s gone, I look down at the card she gave me. I turn it around, and her ten-digit cell number is written in black ink. I stare down at the numbers, which blur as the raindrops continue to fall.
Chapter Seventy-Two
ADDIE
I eventually haveto return home because the rain soaked my jeans, and also I stepped in a huge puddle and now one of my sneakers is waterlogged.
My mom is sitting on the sofa in the living room, doing something on her phone. As soon as I step back in the house, she looks up at me sharply. “Where did you go?”
“Just for a walk.” I step out of my soggy sneakers. “Nowhere in particular.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You didn’t go anywhere?”
“No.”
“Because if you did…”
“Ididn’t.” But I don’t tell her Detective Sprague stopped me on the street. Or about the business card wedged in my coat pocket. “It was just a walk. Seriously, Mom.”
“I’m just worried.” She puts down her phone and stands up to face me. She has started looking so old inthe last year. I always thought my mom seemed younger and prettier than most moms, but now she looks like she could be somebody’s grandma. “What they are accusing you of is very serious. You have to understand that.”
“I know.”
Her eyes grow moist. “Addie, please tell me—I won’t be mad. Do you know what happened to Mrs. Bennett?”
The urge to tell her everything becomes almost overwhelming. I remember when I was a little kid, I felt like anything that was wrong, my mom could hug me and make it right again. But there is no way for her to make any of this right again. Part of growing up is figuring out that your parents don’t have that ability anymore. “No, I don’t.”
Deny everything.
